Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
So basically, the way Tantalus saw it, the Stymphalian birds had simply been minding their own business in the woods and would not have attacked if Annabeth, Tyson, Bronte and Percy hadn't disturbed them with our bad chariot driving.
It was so completely unfair, Percy told Tantalus to go chase a doughnut, which didn't help his mood.
Bronte then ate one of the finest pastries the camp had, directly in his face. She made sure to be extra dramatic about it, exclaiming how amazing it tasted.
When Tantalus turned his back to the blonde, she stuck her middle finger up at him, and rolled her eyes.
He sentenced the four to kitchen patrol–scrubbing pots and platters all afternoon in the underground kitchen with the cleaning harpies. At first, Percy wasn't too mad about the punishment, until he learned that the harpies washed with lava instead of water, to get that extra clean sparkle and kill ninety-nine point nine percent of all germs.
Tyson didn't mind. He plunged his bare hands right in and started scrubbing, but the other three had to suffer through hours of hot, dangerous work, especially since there were tons of extra plates.
Tantalus had ordered a special luncheon banquet to celebrate Clarisse's chariot victory–a full-course meal featuring country-fried Stymphalian death-bird.
The only good thing about their punishment was that it gave them lots of time to talk. After listening to her and Percy's dream about Grover and Cooper again, Annabeth looked like she might be starting to believe them.
Bronte had to constantly stop doing her dishes to stick the Paw Patrol band-aid back on her cheek. It was falling off because of the heat from the lava, making her groan every time it started to peel off.
"If he's really found it," Annabeth murmured. "And if we could retrieve it–"
"Hold on," Percy said. "You act like this...whatever-it-is Grover and Cooper found is the only thing in the world that could save the camp. What is it?"
"I'll give you a hint. What do you get when you skin a ram?"
"Messy?" Percy guessed.
"A bald ram?" Bronte questioned, raising a brow.
Annabeth sighed, shaking her head disappointedly. "A fleece. The coat of a ram is called a fleece. And if that ram happens to have golden wool–"
"The Golden Fleece. Are you serious?" Percy said, not fully believing the blonde braided girl.
Annabeth scrapped a plateful of death-bird bones into the lava. "Remember the Gray Sisters? They said they knew the location of the thing you seek. And they mentioned Jason. Three thousand years ago, they told him how to find the Golden Fleece. You do know the story of Jason and the Argonauts?"
